Living Up in the Mountains, a Poem

Ahh, the peace, the quiet, the solitude, makes me want to stay longer…translated…

Early Morn, We Drove Up the Mountains as a Family

the Wufeng County Already Hiked Up, without Any Shortness of Breath

However, Our Car, It’d, Seemed, a Bit, Limp

Seeing the Mountains from Behind Us

Chasing the Ones Before

Wuji Mountain, Xia Mountain, Maibarlai Mountain

They’d, Chased it Up in a Relay Race

The Rows of Cherry Blossoms Bloomed in Synchrony

Like a Dozen Peacocks, Showing Off Their Feathers at Once

Peacocks, Fireflies, Parrots, Pheasants

Cherry Blossoms, Peaches, Tea Trees, Plum Trees

Already, Moved in to This 1,200 Feet Above Sea Level

They are the Ones, Who, Lived Here

This Place

with the Nature Scenes, Offering the

Winds, the Forests, the Sunshine as the Meals

Melt in Our Mouths

The Fogs and Clouds, They Loved to Stay on Our Tongues

Turned Our Stomachs Over

In the Evenings

Nobody Wants to Get Off

Not the Teas, Nor the Coffees

Nor the Tourists’ Cars

Not the Clouds

Nor the Mountains

Let Alone, This Sense of Solitude & Quiet

Because, this, is such a peaceful place, nobody wants to get off of it, because we all want to stay peaceful, as the world down below the mountains, offered us a ton of chaos, of our daily life routines, that, is why we all, want to stay a bit, longer…


Missing the Passing of the Seasons, a Poem

Just trekking through life, where life takes you, translated…

Slowly, the Buds of Springtime Became

The Bulrush of Autumn that Swayed

The Rich of the Rivers of Summers Turned

into the Dried Up Branches Over the Rivers of Winter

I’d, Slowly, Approached

Passing Through the Seasons, I Seemed to Know

But, it’s, Still, Very, Far Off

There’s, that scent of, just walking through the seasons of one’s own life, not paying attention to things in particular, but also, keeping that watchful eye of the goings on around you…

Memories, Four Poems

The philosophies of this earthly life, translated…


  1. Memories are Like Moss

The Mountains Used the Bird Calls to Name it

My Time Became a Spore

Asleep, Deep Inside

The Evening Fogs Wrapped the Roses in Flames

The Drizzles Fell Endlessly

You are, My Stay

a Small Pathway

in that Shoreside without the Lights

This, is how much, you’d, relied on that certain someone, to keep you steady, to have that place where your hearts can go, to find that safe place in the world…


The Memories are Like the Running Streams

Washing at the Rocks in the Midst

I’m that Foam that Turned Repeatedly

Adding to the Fishes that Swam in the Streams

The Night, in the Sounds of the Streams

Journey in Secret on My Own

Passed Through that Wild Forest

Becoming the Clouds Up in the Mountains

You are, the Starry Night Skies of the Open Plains

with the Eyes, Hidden

The Plains Became the Illuminated Bosoms

Brought the Air of You in the Dawn

And so, waiting for someone, to return, is what this felt like, and, everything is still, very much alive in your memories, the love you and that someone special had, shared from before, it’s, still, right there, inside your heart and your mind!


The Memories Like the Sand

Filled with the Scars of Autumn

Your Bones, Turned into Smaller Hills

Your Skins, Became the Rivers

Leading the Way for the Tears

Spread Out the Wrinkles of Time

The Wind Blew Through a Decade

and Another

Your Bones Like the Hills

Skin, Like the Rivers

Memories, Like the Sands

Even as the Wind Stopped, the Needles from the Pines Still, Fell All Over the Places

And so, no matter what, memories will be lost, there’s, just NO way, to stop the progressions of time, and, as we are all older, things are, lost, the memories, slowly, gone by the day…


The Memories are, Like the Gates, into the Mountains

Swaying Between, the First, the Second, and the Third Doors

Looking into the Greens

Finding that Monastery

The Memories are like the Dojos

After the Morning Chants, come the Noon Chants, then the Evening Chants

After the Chants, the Repentance

Came the Chimes from the Bell

The Wind, the Rain Raged on, Turning the World Dark

The World Became, an Endless Wetland

Something, Hidden Deep, into the Waters

Something, Buried, Deep, in the Earth

And so, this, is where we all end up, as dusts and dirt, and, the memories we have of this world that we’d, carried with us up until we pass away, will all be buried, with our bodies that had, stopped working…

I’ll Try, by the Coast of Amalfi, a Poem

Visiting a foreign place, and, the things that you’d, encountered, on this trip, translated…

In Order, to Prevent from Hearing

the Lowered Whispers of the Lovebirds Underneath the Trees

The Pines All Reached the Consensus

to Lift Their Heads Up, Higher, Just, a Bit, Higher Up

In Order, to Not Get Stuck in Traffic

the place that looked like paradise on earth, photo from online…查看來源圖片

All the Motors Got into a Slurred Argument

And All the Seagulls Had Agreed

that They Shall, Spread Their Wings Upward—to, Fly, Higher Up, into, the Skies

In Order to Not Get Cramped in by the Houses Sitting at the Foot of the Hills

That Chateau, Standing, at the Top of the Hill Had

Decided to Tip Its Toes Up Higher—to, Look Farther, into the Distance

Try Getting Taller, Fly, Just a Bit, Higher

driving down that one-lane freeway, with the sea, right beside you like this???  Photo found online…查看來源圖片very leisurely, wouldn’t you say???

Try, Looking Farther Off, into the Distance, and, Don’t Forget

to Try to, Keep Your Voices, to a Bare Minimum

Reduced, to a Light Whisper

by the

Amalfi Shores

So, this, is a soliloquy of sorts, I suppose, and, the poet had, painted, this picture of this ancient small township, filled, with the tracks of the people who came before her/him.

Sunset on Tuesday, a Poem


Four-Thirty in the Afternoon

The Sun is Dead

The Dark Blue Sky

with a Few Reddened Clouds

Became a Charcoal, Burned to Redness

sunset 的圖片結果the skies, painted red like this…photo from online

This poet had, painted the picturesque of the dying light illuminating from the western skies at sunset with her words, so very vivid…

Springtime is Here, a Poem

A picturesque scene, painted by these words, translated…

The Lotus Leaves Decorated the Stream

The Poet from the T’ang Dynasty Fu Du’s Summer’s Start Hadn’t Arrived Yet


查看來源圖片the flowers blooming…phoot from online…

It’s Still Springtime

Let’s Just be Like the Poem of Shih Su

The Warmed Spring Streams, Known only to the Ducks

the signs of springtime…photo from online…

The Ducks Came to Visit the Crisp Green Lotus Leaves

to Visit that Lost Painting

Who Had, Entered into the Treks of Time at the Wrong Time

and Hidden Oneself

Spring is the starting point, the renewal of life, and sometimes, these new forces of life just, take a little extra time, to pop out of the ground, like how those budding plants don’t flower overnight?

Mom’s Book of Stories

The legacy you’re, leaving for your children, the most priceless of all possessions, and it still wasn’t measured by those dollars or cents! Translated…

As I learned that I could go to Taipei to attend the Mobile Creations Awards ceremonies, I’d invited my youngest son who is studying in Chiayi to come along. My youngest also took his leave of absence from his work in the cram schools to accompany me. Other than being proud as his mother, mostly, he’d wanted to see who the judges are. Seeing how excited I was, he’d asked, “Did you sort through your articles? If you’re gone, then, the articles would be gone too!”

I’m already used to my son’s insulting ways, and hearing how he was concerned, I was, glad over that; finally someone had, thought about this, I’d replied, “All my articles are, classified, and I’d placed them all inside the cabinets.”

Many years ago, I’d told my son, “I can’t leave you any money when I’m gone, I’d only written the stories from when you guys were little, after you read them, you would know, how trying it was, for me, to raise you guys up.” As I’d spoken these words, my son let them pass through his ears, but today, he’d, mentioned it without me asking!

Back when I’d started to write, I’d wanted to capture my son’s aging processes, and, I’d wanted to earn a little more money for food on the tables. As I wrote, I’d added in the encounters I had at the local marketplaces, and the interesting things that’s happened in my parents as well as my in-law’s homes, and the fool I’d made of myself from work back when, and naturally, something stupid my husband had done as well.

And, my family took the “quieter approach to what I put down”, and there was only one faithful fan, who got all excited about everything I’d written, my dear old mom—every time I’d read my writings to her, she’d always laughed hard, commented, “Such wonderful proses!”

Last year I’d started working again, and entered in the line of workers in the nursing homes, and wrote down my stories with the elderly folks I’d worked with at the home, and my classmate, “Bull” read, left the message, “You now have more stories to write on.”

But, I’m, aged, and, as I’d gotten home from work, I’d become, way too fatigued, to start writing, but I’d wanted to leave the markings, and so, I’d written few lines on FB, thought, that I’ll sort through them eventually sometime in the future!

But, because I had a closed fracture of my femur last month, I can only take my leave of absence and stay home and rest, and now, I get to have the time, to pass in front of the computer screens, now, the inheritance for my son had the “elderly and mom” stories filed in.

And so, this woman documented her own life with her writings, and, she will keep on writing, and leave this legacy of her own memories to her own children to have after she is dead and gone, and, I’m sure, that in the futures, as her children read their mother’s writing, they will discover a side of their mother they never knew existed.